"Well… I was never one for birthdays, nor is Bast. But I’d guess twenty eight?" Conall looked to his brother and Bastion nodded his agreement. "As for friends, not really. We know a few thugs down at the Snugly Duckling but I wouldn’t call them friends. No, we don’t steal anymore. Mostly to keep out of prison."
"I guess," Conall muttered, "but he’s a guy. We don’t… work that way."
Conall looked at the asker closely, wondering if this was a joke. “Um, I’d hit him into next week.” Bastion nodded his agreement.
I am going to be undoubtedly busy for… a while. The exact parameters are unknown. But I won’t be able to do much. I have an ask or two in my box but my computer has been wigging out a bit and eating posts (hopefully this gets through). Sorry for not letting y’all know sooner. But really I have to get busy… so I’ll be gone for more than a week… maybe two.
((Muse(s) be dead. I’m half dead from exhaustion. I will get to asks and replies ASAP but that might not be until this evening. Sorry.))
"Bearclaw, eh? Sounds fierce."
“I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you,” Conall baited. “After all, who’s ever heard of a girl with magic hair?” While Conall concentrated on Flynn, Bastion was watching the girl. Her anger hadn’t subsided, if anything it seemed to be growing, but there were more traces of heartbreak. Tears were coming, if this continued the way it was going, and the fact that she only watched Flynn was another clue.
“Magic hair, huh? That’s a new one…” He does his best to act surprised, but he can’t help but rub his hand, remembering how she’d healed it for him, “Guessing that’s why you have her here?” He nods to Rapunzel, keeping his eyes on the fire and refusing to look anywhere else. Not the Stabbington’s, not her, just the fire roaring in front of him. The guilt inside of him is being a tangible and angry thing, pulling at his awareness and making him almost dizzy with the struggle on containing it. He has no chance of hiding it anymore, and it shows in the slump of his shoulders, and the furrow of his brow. In the way he digs his heels into the ground uneasily and how he tenses his thighs as if he wants to run. How his hands ball into fists and mash against one another in an annoying habit of anxiety.
He’s not just guilty, he’s terrified. Terrified that he’s lost a game he didn’t even know he’d started playing.
"Indeed we do. She’s a pretty good prisoner to boot. That or we’re just good wardens." Conall chuckled at his own joke. Even Bastion let out a small laugh. This was a very new torture technique for the both of them. But watching Flynn squirm wasn’t quite as entertaining as beating him to pieces. So Conall decided to lay the pressure on. "She was carrying this weird map, and it looks like your writing. Any idea where she could have gotten that?"
"At least their toes grow back. I knew a guy with six toes on each foot, so I guess he might have the same ability… if a little off."
"So it’s like losing toes?"
He doesn’t even need to pretend to be outraged about this. He lets out an insulted gasp. “That’s practically slavery, fellas!” He shakes his head, reminding himself he wasn’t in…
"And uh…what source is that?" Rider questions, grabbing a large stick and poking the fire with it. He needed a distraction, and he hoped the dancing embers would suffice. No such luck. His gaze wanders again, and again to her no matter how hard he tries to look anywhere but her. Her scathed and bruised feet, her thin legs scrapped in various spots, her lilac dress spattered with long dried blood that ran down from her scalp where her unraveling braid has been pulled much too hard. But those eyes. Those damned eyes pulled at his heart because there wasn’t just anger there. Anger he could handle. But there was heartbreak, and tortured betrayal.
Climbing right into the fire in front of him suddenly felt like a really good idea. The problem with being able to feel again, was feeling BAD again. Guilt and sorrow and pain were all things he’d learned to shove beneath the surface but under the scrutiny of those watery green orbs…he was putty, and he was terrified that the Brothers were watching him fall apart. They were no longer his mentors, or his guardians, or accomplices, or any of the other things that they had once been to him. They were simply enemies. All he had were enemies, and it was all his fault. He’d dug himself into this hole.
"I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you," Conall baited. "After all, who’s ever heard of a girl with magic hair?" While Conall concentrated on Flynn, Bastion was watching the girl. Her anger hadn’t subsided, if anything it seemed to be growing, but there were more traces of heartbreak. Tears were coming, if this continued the way it was going, and the fact that she only watched Flynn was another clue.